


The Morning After

by Nepenthene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's Trenchcoat, Coffee, Dean is Not a Morning Person, Dean’s a lil shit, M/M, Morning After, Neither Is Cas, Sam Finds Out, Secret Relationship, and is only surprised that Dean finally got over himself, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepenthene/pseuds/Nepenthene
Summary: Dean can’t be blamed for not immediately running to the phone to call Sam and gush like a teenage girl once he and Cas worked their shit out. Or during the week after. Actually, he’s kinda been hoping that Sam would eventually just... get it. And then preferably keep most of the comments and smugness to himself when that finally happened.Ha. Like that was ever gonna be the way things shook down. Anyways, thanks a lot, universe. Screw you too.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 157





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this in my writing folder for like... two years. And recently, [jackiedeeart](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1bpoA-nFRi/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) made this awesome illustration that was almost the same concept! Total coincidence, but I had to incorporate a little of the spirit of the drawing because I loved it so much, lol. (Go check out their account for a ton of shmexy Destiel goodness, I promise you won't be disappointed.)

Cas snuffles confusedly, his face smushed against Dean’s shoulder. Dean had been trying, apparently unsuccessfully, to extricate himself from bed without waking the ex-angel. Pushing a floppy arm off his waist, he plants a kiss on Cas’ furrowed brow and reluctantly slides out from between the sheets. “Oh, suck it up. M’gonna go make coffee.”

Cas grumbles something unintelligible and pulls Dean’s pillow into his arms. Obviously it’s a good enough substitute for the real thing, because the sheets stop rustling and he lets out a contented little sigh. Dean smiles in the dark, pulling on his pajama pants and feeling around for his robe, _there’s_ the fucker, then yawning hugely as he shrugs it on and belts it around his waist.

Despite the cotton still wrapped around his brain, he does remember to look both ways before he steps into the hall, because Sam’s still not in on the shift in Dean and Cas’ relationship that’s seen them spending every night together for the past week. Honestly, Dean’s actually kinda surprised that Sam hasn’t clued in yet. But he was away on a rare solo hunt when they’d figured things out, and he hadn’t come back until Confession +2. Which was good, actually, because it’s highly likely that he’d have heard and seen some things he probably wouldn’t have wanted to if he’d been any earlier. 

Dean knows he has to tell him, he does. And he’s planning to. It’s just a matter of, uh, working himself up to it. Eventually.

But he’s too tired to think right now, so he just goes through the mechanical ritual of making coffee and then sits down at the table. 

_(Ow,_ he thinks with a wince. Then he grins.) 

Withdrawing into his nice warm robe like a turtle, Dean props his head against his hand and waits for the machine to dispense his elixir of life. 

Hmm. That’s nice. His robe smells like Cas.

He kind of drifts off, but as soon as that beautiful little electronic chime pulls him back towards something resembling consciousness he all but lunges for the coffee pot. He’s happily plunked into his seat at the table, sipping from his mug with closed eyes when he hears the front door open and close, followed by the preppy tip-tap of Sam’s running shoes coming down the stairs. He doesn’t stir as Sam tromps into the kitchen and beelines for the fridge, too enraptured by his coffee to care what the Sasquatch is doing. Probably drinking orange juice straight from the jug. He’s gross like that. 

What does make him open his eyes is the spluttering cough that suddenly pierces the relative silence of the kitchen. Dean rubs his eyes and yawns. “I _told_ you not to get that pulpy shit.”

For his part, Sam just stares at Dean with his mouth hanging slightly open. The pause drags on, and Dean squints at him. “You okay?”

Sam closes his mouth abruptly. There’s not quite an audible snap, but it wouldn’t have been out of place. “Uh. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Great. Coffee’s in the pot. Don’t drink it all.” Sam nods dazedly and wanders over to the counter. 

Weird. Running must liquify your brain. Dean knew there was a good reason he hated it. He takes another sip. 

Sam brings his mug over to the table and sits down, but he’s weirdly stiff. Dean glances at him to see if he can tell what’s up, but ends up doing a double take when he catches Sam’s eye, ‘cause the guy’s just _staring_ at him with a weird-ass expression on his face. Dean scowls. “‘Kay, what? Did I drool all over myself or something?”

Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He closes it and tries again. 

“Um. Why are you wearing Cas’ coat?”

Dean laughs awkwardly. “What?” But Sam just keeps looking at him, and the trickle of cold fear that has started to leak into his blood turns into a torrent. He swallows. Slowly, he looks down, and his eyes widen in horror. 

He’s not wearing his nice, cozy, grey bathrobe. He’s wearing Cas’ trench coat. In the kitchen. Sitting across from Sam.

He clears his throat. “Um.”

Sam’s eyebrows threaten to recede into his hairline, and his mouth drops into a little “o” of triumphant realization. “Oh my god. You’re sleeping together.”

Dean sputters. “What? That’s just— I mean, you can’t—”

Sam grins, slow and self-satisfied. “Wow. I can’t believe this.”

Dean’s just opened his mouth to defend himself when Cas walks in, and he promptly chokes on his words. Cas is wearing one of Dean’s worn-out Zeppelin shirts over his own plaid pants, and his hair looks like a small animal has made a nest in it. He shuffles around the table with half-closed eyes, responding to Sam’s cheerful greeting with a grunt and apparently having zero problem with showing off the chain of hickeys that meanders over his neck as he pours himself a big mug of coffee. Dean’s face is burning as he slumps in his chair, staring intently into the depths of his coffee. Sam snickers at him from the other side of the table. 

That is, until Cas comes back over, plops down into the seat beside Dean, and pulls him in for a long, sleepy kiss. Distantly, Dean hears Sam choke on his coffee, and the tiny part of his brain not going **CAS CAS CAS** is viciously triumphant.

Even though this is probably making him look even more like a tomato than before, it also makes him lean into the kiss a little more than he usually would to mess with his brother. It works, because Sam’s got an extravagant expression of disgust and embarrassment on his face when they finally break apart. Ha. Serves you right, you smug bastard. (He ignores the happy, soppy look right underneath it. Ten bucks says he’s gonna have to suffer through a heartfelt congratulations later today.)

“Well. Uh, good for you. Glad you finally, uh…” Sam shudders a little. “Worked things out.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to snicker, and he watches amusedly as Cas drains half his mug of coffee in one go. When he comes back up for air, he turns to Dean and looks at the trench coat. He narrows his eyes. “That’s my coat.”

Dean laughs and squeezes Cas’ thigh. “Yeah. I know.”

— - —

Sam beats a quick retreat not long after that, pulling another face and muttering something about a shower. Which is great, by the way. As soon as Dean gets used to being a _thing_ with Cas, where Sam can see, he’s gonna have a _blast_ with that. But his coffee’s empty, so he gets up to pour himself another one.

Then, halfway through refilling his mug, he has an idea. 

Biting back a grin, he undoes the belt of the coat, pushes the sleeves up over his forearms, and pops the collar to a jaunty angle. That done, he scoops up his coffee and wanders back over to the table, leaning nonchalantly against the back of a chair.

Cas looks up when he doesn’t sit down, his questioning gaze snapping to hot and intense in roughly half a millisecond. His eyes rake over Dean, finally stopping at his face, and Dean cocks his eyebrows mischievously.

“So, you want the coat back? I don’t think it’s really my colour, anyway.”

Cas puts his coffee down and stands up, stepping into Dean’s space. Eyes never wavering from Dean’s, he takes Dean’s mug from him and very deliberately puts it down on the table.

“Not for the next several hours, no.”

God, Cas’ morning voice is the _best._ Dean licks his lips. “Sure thing. Anywhere in particular you want it?”

Cas doesn’t bother responding. He just hauls Dean in by the collar and kisses him.

(Oh, don’t worry, they make it to Dean’s room just fine before it gets too hot 'n heavy.)

(Well. _This_ time, at least.)

**Author's Note:**

> Later:
> 
> Sam walks into the kitchen, looking around cautiously. He really doesn't want to... walk in on anything. He doesn't think he'd ever recover from that.
> 
> He stops next to the table. Two mugs sit there, the coffee inside them long gone cold. What had been Cas' chair is pushed back at a haphazard angle, like it'd been quickly evacuated.
> 
> "Oh, _gross."_
> 
> He goes for another run.


End file.
